


Books To Return

by DictionaryWrites, Johannes_Evans



Series: Magic Beholden [10]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cute, Fantasy, Fluff, Humor, Librarians, Libraries, M/M, Magical Realism, Trans, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Wales, Welsh Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26727430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johannes_Evans/pseuds/Johannes_Evans
Summary: The head librarian at the magical library in Llandeilio has a new admirer.
Series: Magic Beholden [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844758
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Books To Return

Jay Henderson walked into the library for the first time at five minutes past five o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon. He walked very stiffly, holding his shoulders squarely, dragging his feet slightly as he moved. He was a large man with a rounded, barrel chest and belly, a wide waist, short, and although a green flannel shirt was tied around his waist, he wore a black vest, and his bare arms, which were trunk thick, fat layered over muscle, and the left was covered over with an intricate sleeve, black ink showing a complicated design of trees in blossom.

That was the first thought Andras had, when he first looked at him, that his arms looked good, strong – sexy.

The second thought he had was that they were both smeared with a dark, rusty red substance he was fairly certain was blood.

Jay walked up to the desk – at that moment, Andras didn’t even know his name was Jay, wasn’t sure of his pronouns either, actually, because he didn’t wear a badge, didn’t have anything visible to give much of a hint. He wore his hair cut very short, shaved to a four, had a stretcher through one ear and a ring through the opposite eyebrow, had round, plump cheeks that were a healthy pink and scattered with freckles, had a round jaw.

But he walked up to the desk.

“Good afternoon,” Andras said quietly, and Jay – the person, as yet unidentified – put his hands on the front of the desk, looked at Andras seriously, leaned on the surface as though it were the only thing holding him up. “How may I help?”

“Good afternoon,” Jay said. His voice was pitched low, but came from the throat, and lacked resonance: there was a natural huskiness to it that Andras hoped didn’t come from cigarettes, even though it was none of his business, because he couldn’t help but wonder, in the moment, what this person’s mouth tasted like.

Professionalism at its finest.

Andras waited patiently as the person turned over one of his hands, which were plump and somewhat smaller than Andras would have expected, and squinted at his palm. Andras saw the ink smudged on the skin, and after a moment of staring at it, his lips moving, Jay said, “Do you have any books on… goy-ber?”

Jay had an English accent, and it was plain he struggled with the pronunciation, but it was close enough for someone trying their best.

“Gwybr?” Andras offered.

Jay nodded.

It was quiet in the library – the stream of children after school had already come in, and most of them had left again now. There’d be another little boost of foot traffic in the next twenty or thirty minutes, but for the time being, it would remain as quiet as this.

“Let me show you,” Andras said, and stepped out from behind the central information desk. For a moment, Jay didn’t move, just stayed there, eye-level as he was with Andras’ chest, and stared, sight-unseeing, forward at him. “This way,” Andras prompted, feeling the back of his neck prickle with uncomfortable heat even though there was nothing to look at anymore, and Jay looked up at his face.

“Yeah,” he said, and followed dumbly behind as Andras led him through magical fauna, to dragonology, to dragons of Cymru-Loegr.

“Most of the reference material will show the gwybr under G – the gwybr is not the same as the common white dragon, but a subspecies of the Celtic water dragon, if that helps any.”

Jay stared at him for a moment. He had nice eyes, a sort of dirty, mottled green colour, like pears rotting in long grass. For a moment, Andras wondered if perhaps he hadn’t heard, but then he said, in the tone of one exhausted, “Right. Thanks,” and Andras gave a curt nod, and stepped away.

There was reshelving still to be done, but by the time he’d gotten back to the desk, one of the other librarians – Becca – had already taken off the rolling shelf to reshelve from, and so Andras sat back down at the desk, answering a few administrative emails in between answering queries as people dripped into the building from the rain outside.

At six-twenty-six, Jay shuffled to the desk, and placed six books on the counter.

“I’m afraid I can’t loan these to you,” Andras said, sliding his fingers over the two books at the base of the pile, heavy books with hard backs. “They’re reference books, and need to remain in the library. Both of them, however, are on our website, and can be perused at your leisure if you log in with your library ID.”

“Right,” was the response. “Um, I don’t have a… I moved out here last week, I don’t have a library card. Could I, uh, could I sign up?”

“Of course,” Andras said, and took the form out.

His name was Jay Henderson, and he lived on Coral Avenue, in Blodwyn’s Arcade. His proof of address was a letter notifying him of his appointment to the Llandeilo Magical Wildlife Centre. He was unmarried and unattached: he lived alone, and had two cats. 

“Thank you, Andras,” he said, when he had been given his library card, and had his books safely nestled under his coat, to protect them from the rain as he walked out to his car. “Um. _Dylch_.”

The single syllable, incorrect as it was, pronounced with inordinate effort, charmed without meaning to, and Andras felt himself smile. “Diolch yn fawr,” he said mildly. “A croeso.”

Jay stared at him, but then gave a stout nod of his head, and buttoned his coat closed.

Andras stared after him, and permitted himself precisely three seconds to glance down at the wide curve of Jay Henderson’s arse, wrapped tightly as it was in plum-coloured trousers.

Then, Mrs Evans – their final patron of the evening – came to take home her latest three torrid romance novels, and Andras smiled at her, and put the books on her card.

\--

Jay Henderson returned on the following Tuesday, directly from work: the cut under his eye was fresh, and still bleeding. Andras abandoned the books he was due to reshelve, took the other man gently by the wrist, which was strong and warm and livid under his fingers, and led him aside, into the small kitchenette where a kettle and sink were settled for patrons to make tea.

Jay said nothing as he watched Andras reach for the first aid kit, and when Andras gave a gesture of one hand, he obediently tilted his head back, letting Andras rub an antiseptic wipe over the cut, although it must have stung, because he hissed quietly in pain.

“This will feel warm,” Andras said, “but it won’t hurt.”

Jay furrowed his brow, but didn’t say anything still as Andras murmured a few words under his breath, and gently drew his thumb over the borders of the cut, watching its soft glow as the parted skin was knitted close together again,

“Andras,” Jay said. “Am I saying that right?”

“You think there is another way to say it?” Andras asked as he packed the antiseptic away, and Jay watched him as he zipped up the first aid kit, setting it back into its cupboard.

“I like your pronoun badge,” Jay said lowly, and Andras turned to glance at him. Jay was looking at him, at Andras’ ankles, his calves and thighs, his arse, his waist, his shoulders. When Jay met Andras’ gaze, having looked all the way up again, Andras raised an eyebrow, and watched the colour glow, plainly visible, in Jay’s cheeks. “Not many cis guys would wear them.”

“All of our staff wear pronoun badges,” Andras said, in a tone of easy deflection. “You have books to return?”

“Yeah.”

Andras paused a moment as Jay got to his feet. Once more, Jay looked at his chest, and once more, Andras felt a prickling discomfort, the ghost of past outward perception, but he was aware, logically, that his chest was naturally where Jay’s gaze fell. The height difference between them was really that extreme – and not at all, in Andras’ mind, a deterrent.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Andras asked, allowing his lip to curve up in a half-smile, and Jay looked up at him, his lips parting slightly.

“I don’t speak Welsh,” he said.

“We’re speaking English,” Andras reminded him.

“Nobody else is,” Jay said. “In the mundane side, there’s more English, but um. But everyone speaks Welsh. In the magical side, mostly. And this is a magical library. Fluffergeff.”

Andras said, “Llyfrgell.”

“I can do a lot of stuff with my mouth, Andras,” said Jay. “I can’t do that.”

“A lot of _stuff_ , huh?” asked Andras.

Jay’s red cheeks glowed, but he smiled, too.

Andras led him to the desk, so that he could return his books.

\--

Over the coming weeks, Jay Henderson came into the library every two or three days. Typically, he was bruised and battered, but the injuries were never extreme, and only one or two warranted a small sidebar in the kitchenette, where Andras could administer some minor care.

“What made you choose this line of work?” Andras asked on one such occasion, when Jay had a nasty graze down one calf, the result of falling down a steep embankment after a deer – a mundane deer – had given him a shock when he’d been scattering fruit pieces for the sprites in the wood. “You don’t seem to be very good at it.”

“I thought it would be easier,” Jay admitted.

“You don’t say?” Like this, Andras was down on one knee, and although Jay shivered as Andras gently dragged a gloved hand over the skin, taking up the dust and mud with an antiseptic wipe. Some of the blood had dried, but at the deepest parts, the wounds still bled slightly, and Andras was gentle about knitting them closed.

“I am good at it though,” Jay murmured. “I used to work on the reserve at the Palace.”

Andras had never been to the Palace. It was somewhere in the Midlands of Loegr, slap-bang in the centre of the biggest magical forestry reserve across the two kingdoms – he knew that they were behind a lot of other countries in the existence of magical reserves, but of course, the king _had_ to be safely in the midst of one.

“Ah,” Andras murmured. “You’re used to somewhat tamer animals than this.”

“No, they’re not, uh, tamer,” Jay said, his eyes fluttering closed as Andras gently drew a little piece of stone out from a cut before he healed it again. “It’s their proximity to the king. Even in a coma, he releases a kind of, um, a kind of aura, I guess? The king regent has it too. All the creatures of Cymru-Loegr pledged loyalty to the king, once, before the Battle of Camlan – not the fae, but all the magical animals from, you know, this dimension.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“A lot of people don’t,” Jay said softly.

“You met the king regent?”

“Yeah,” Jay said.

“Goodness,” Andras said softly, leaning back on his heels. “And you gave up that for this?”

“It’s been alright so far,” Jay said, and Andras felt himself grin as he stood to his feet, removing his gloves and washing his hands. “There’s first aiders in the centre, you know.”

“And?”

Jay opened his mouth, then closed it. He was looking somewhere in the vicinity of Andras’ belly instead of at his face. “Nothing.”

\--

Jay Henderson liked coffee, but not tea. When Andras mentioned how he took his own tea – milk, two sugars, Jay took to bringing some in with him from the café up the road before he came into the library.

The junior librarians commented on it, of course – it wasn’t often Andras made all that nice with anybody, let alone so nice with them that they came in three times a week with tea and ginger biscuits for him.

They found it quaint – sweet.

Andras almost didn’t care.

“You been a librarian a long time?”

“Fourteen years,” Andras said. “My degree was in Sorcery and Spellwork, and my final project was a fusion of classical archival enchantment and technomancy – specifically, search and reference spells. I built a spell system on an old computer – if you hooked it up to the wardstone in an abbey’s library, or whatever, you could sort of… search for keywords in nearby scrolls and books without scanning them first.”

“I didn’t really understand any of that,” Jay said, and Andras laughed.

“I built a computer with magic that would search a physical library, like this one, the same way a normal computer could search the internet,” he said, and Jay raised his eyebrows, the pieced one jumping as he did so.

“Is that useful?” he asked.

“No,” Andras admitted, and this time, it was Jay that laughed, a wonderful, hoarse and husky sound that came from low in his throat – he didn’t smoke, Andras had been delighted to discover. “It would have some practical applications, and I gave a lot of my research to people who’d find it useful – it’s the sort of thing that’s very useful for forensic accountancy, apparently, and I helped add some finetuning to some existing programs. But I thought it was cool, and I ended up pivoting away from technomancy and toward information sciences instead, and thus…” Andras gestured with his hands at the library around them. “Finished my Masters at twenty-three and started working here.”

“How long’ve you been head librarian?”

“A decade.”

“Isn’t twenty-seven young for a head librarian?”

“I murdered the last one,” Andras said seriously, and Jay’s eyes widened slightly, showing their wonderful green colour.

“Really?”

“No. She retired.”

“You’re so weird,” Jay Henderson said, and Andras chuckled, leaning back in his seat, feeling the plastic creak slightly underneath him. He wished in that moment that he could reach out somehow, to touch the other man, but Jay was leaning on the desk as he always was: too far away.

The moment passed.

Time rolled on.

“Why did you move west, if you don’t have any Welsh?” Andras asked one evening, sipping at his mug of coffee as Jay leaned on the side of the desk, holding an icepack to the side of one jaw – sustained after an attempt at wrangling a faerie-boar had gone awry.

“I can read it alright,” Jay said. “I can do my forms. Just can’t speak it much.”

“That’s hardly an answer.”

“Lived in Camelot. Didn’t like it. Too busy. Thought it’d be quieter out this way.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“You like it?”

Jay looked at Andras, smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.”

\--

Two months after the first occasion Jay had come into the library, he arrived in a hurry at forty-five minutes past six on a Thursday evening. The lights in the library were already dimmed, and Callidora and Gwenan had already gone home.

Jay Henderson – for the first time, without new bruises – staggered to a stop just outside the library doors as Andras turned the key in the lock.

“Good day at work?” Andras asked.

He could feel Jay’s gaze on his back as he keyed in the code on the alarm.

“Yeah,” Jay said. “Didn’t fall down once.”

“Very impressive,” Andras said. “Overtime?”

“Paperwork. I, um, I’ll come back tomorrow, I have books to—”

“The slot for out-of-hours returns,” Andras said, turning on his heel, hooking one finger into the handle, and pulling down the hatch, “is here.”

“But I—”

“Give,” Andras said, holding out his hand, and Jay bit his lip, but he reached into his bag, a red leather satchel that clattered with one pin badge after another, and pulled out the two books he’d taken out a few days back. Andras took them from him, slipped them into the hatch, and closed it shut. “There,” he said softly. “Business concluded.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, and Andras watched the bob of his plump throat as he swallowed, eyes averted toward the street. He held himself as though he were worried of taking up too much space, as though he were worried about breaking everything around him, and there was something curiously beguiling in that, something that made Andras want to swaddle him in hs own jacket – no matter that it would be too small – and hold him in his lap. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you Monday—”

“Ah ah,” Andras said, and hooked two fingers through one of the loops of Jay’s scarf, stopping him halfway through the motion of turning away, and Jay turned to stare at him again. Owlish, his lips parted, his cheeks very red. “You didn’t bring me tea.”

“I was running late,” Jay said, in a tone of apology, as though he had something to apologise for.

“Just a joke, Jay,” Andras said in a tone of gentle assurance, stroking his fingers over the soft wool of the scarf – it felt hand-knitted, and he watched Jay shiver. “Just play.”

“Right,” Jay said lowly. “Um, I didn’t— I forget something?”

“I’m quite accustomed to our little chats,” Andras said. “You think I’d let you walk off without one?”

“The library’s closed,” Jay said. He looked nervous, like he’d been caught out at something he shouldn’t be doing, and Andras tugged on the scarf, pulling him closer by it, as though he were reeling in a fish. Jay took two stumbling steps forward – he had small feet, clad in rainbow coloured trainers. Andras liked them: they were cute, and contrasted the rest of Jay’s typical ensemble, the flannel, the loose jeans, the denim jacket.

“God forbid,” Andras said, pouting out his lips and giving a very serious nod of his head. “We’ll have to conduct our chat somewhere else.”

The surprise was heart breaking, and Andras pretended not to notice it as Jay stared up at him. “You want to?”

Andras unhooked his fingers from the scarf and slid them down the length of Jay’s upper arm instead, feeling the muscle underneath his fingers and swallowing on the dryness, the almost-nervousness he was determined to ignore. “I believe I am giving all indications,” Andras said, “that that is the case.”

“Why do you talk like that?” Jay asked. “You got struck by lightning? You get fused to one of your computers so that the dictionary is stuck in your mouth?”

“Yes,” Andras said earnestly. “It’s very tragic, actually. I can scarcely say three words under three syllables.”

Jay huffed out a laugh, and once glanced away again, like he was nervous to make eye contact, and then said, “Am I… bothering you?”

“Yes,” Andras said. “Very much so.”

“Oh,” Jay said, deflating again, “then I should—”

“ _Take me somewhere_ ,” Andras said, and he leaned forward at the waist, so that his face was at a level with Jay’s, their noses nearly touching. Jay’s eyes, up close, were impossibly lovely: their mottled colour was deep as anything, those depths only emphasised as his pupil’s dilated slightly, stock-still like he was frightened to move away or to come closer.

“You sure?” Jay asked.

“Listen to me very carefully, because I am only going to say this once,” Andras said, remaining bent at the waist – he knew that his posture was perfect, no matter that he hadn’t stood for ballet since he was still a child in an ill-fitting binder, chest aching with every plié. It was different now, of course – there was no need for a binder anymore, and he could dance unimpeded if he wanted to, but he’d really have to rent proper space to dance in, and buy new shoes, break them in again… Jay was looking at him like he was on the stage right now, and Andras slid two fingers into the strap of Jay’s satchel, dragging it away from his chest for a moment before letting it pop back. “You are going to bring me to an eatery or drinking establishment of your choice. You are going to purchase for me a drink, or perhaps we shall share a meal. You are going to be so _very_ gallant: you will open doors for me, you will put out my chair for me, you will help me off with my coat. Do you know what will happen then, Mr Henderson?”

Jay gave a minute shake of his head.

“We are going to have a very enjoyable time together,” Andras said, “because you and I are very handsome young gentlemen, and if I did not like you _very_ much, I would not spend such time as I do delicately mending together your every cut and boo-boo.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“I would,” Andras amended. “But I would not do it with such a charming smile on my charming face.”

“It is a charming smile,” Jay mumbled, smiling tightly, his cheeks burning so brightly he seemed fit to light up the town with.

“ _Isn’t_ it?”

Jay inhaled, and then drew himself up as though there were strings attached to his rounded shoulders, puffing out his barrel chest. “Andras Griffiths. I am going to take you to… an Italian restaurant.” He shoved out one arm, the bend in the elbow slightly awkward, his knuckles whitening at how tightly he’d made the first, and Andras felt his lips curl into a smile, and he slid his arm through the offered curve.

“That’s all I wanted you to say,” Andras said,

“I wasn’t sure if you dated… Dated,” Jay said. “Trans guys.”

“Of course,” Andras said. “It’s cis guys I don’t date.”

Jay turned to stare up at him for a moment, and Andras felt his gaze dip from Andras’ face down to his chest, his waist, and back up again. “You mean,” Jay said, breathless, “Are you—”

“Stealthy as a spy,” Andras said, and he tugged Jay close to him when Jay laughed, tugged Jay to lean his cheek against Andras’ shoulder.

“I can’t do T. I have some clotting issues, and the health risk is too high.”

“I would never have believed you were at a risk for blood clots,” Andras said. “You always seem to bleed very freely.”

“Well, that’s just for you,” Jay said. “I like to show off.”

Andras gasped, curling his fingers in Jay’s cropped-short hair, feeling its spiky texture drag against his palm. “A _joke_ from Jay Henderson! _”_ he exclaimed, drumming his fingers on the top of the other man’s head. “Will wonders never cease?”

They walked in silence for a while, Jay still leaning against Andras’ side.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Evidently.”

“Are you, like— You always wear the suit shirt and cardigan. Are you like, really built under all that?”

“Oh, yes,” Andras said. “I look precisely like the outside of a Hollister bag, but with two underlines in red.”

“Really?”

“No, I have a dancer’s physique. But the lines of emphasis remain all the same.”

Jay laughed again, shaking his head. “God,” he muttered. “I never met a man who talked like you.”

“Lucky you have me then, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jay said. “Yeah, seems like. Lwcus. Uh— Ffodus.”

“Rhagluniaethol,” Andras said.

“The fuck does _that_ mean?” Jay asked, and Andras laughed, and turned to kiss him.

For a moment, Jay was frozen under Andras’ mouth, and Andras almost pulled away again, but Jay let out a sharp noise, grabbed him by the front of his cardigan and kept him dragged close, kissed him very hard, with far more skill than Andras would have expected. Andras let out a breathless noise, almost a whimper, let Jay drag him down closer, forcing him to bend over – he’d have to get used to that, he supposed.

“We could skip dinner,” Andras suggested in a soft, almost wheeze of a voice. “If you’d like to keep kissing me.”

“I’ll kiss you after,” Jay promised. “Food first.”

“So _commanding_ ,” Andras purred. “Lead me wherever you please, Mr Henderson.”

“I’m never gonna stop blushing if you keep talking like that.”

“Is that meant to be a deterrent?”

Jay chuckled, and tugged Andras toward the restaurant door. “I guess not,” he mumbled, and they walked in together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Just a reminder I don't post most of my short original stuff on Ao3 even though I publish short stories very regularly, but you can find more info about what I post and where [here](https://johannesevans.tumblr.com/post/629449536272826368/landing-page).


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